We came to the rooming house where Dean haggled with* Camille.
It was an old red-brick building surrounded by wooden garages and old trees that stuck up from behind fences.
We went up carpeted stairs.
Carlo knocked; then he darted to the back to hide; he didn't want Camille to see him.
I stood in the door.
Dean opened it stark naked.
I saw a brunette on the bed, one beautiful creamy thigh covered with black lace, look up with mild wonder.
"Why, Sa-a-al!" said Dean.
"Well now – ah – ahem – yes, of course, you've arrived – you old sonumbitch you finally got on that old road.
Well, now, look here – we must – yes, yes, at once – we must, we really must!
Now Camille – " And he swirled on her.
"Sal is here, this is my old buddy from New Yor-r-k, this is his first night in Denver and it's absolutely necessary for me to take him out and fix him up with a girl."
"But what time will you be back?"
"It is now" (looking at his watch) "exactly one-fourteen.
I shall be back at exactly three-fourteen, for our hour of reverie together, real sweet reverie, darling, and then, as you know, as I told you and as we agreed, I have to go and see the one-legged lawyer about those papers – in the middle of the night, strange as it seems and as I tho-ro-ly explained." (This was a coverup for his rendezvous with Carlo, who was still hiding.) "So now in this exact minute I must dress, put on my pants, go back to life, that is to outside life, streets and what not, as we agreed, it is now one-fifteen and time's running, running – "
"Well, all right, Dean, but please be sure and be back at three."
"Just as I said, darling, and remember not three but three-fourteen.
Are we straight in the deepest and most wonderful depths of our souls, dear darling?"
And he went over and kissed her several times.
On the wall was a nude drawing of Dean, enormous dangle and all, done by Camille.
I was amazed.
Everything was so crazy.
Off we rushed into the night; Carlo joined us in an alley.
And we proceeded down the narrowest, strangest, and most crooked little city street I've ever seen, deep in the heart of Denver Mexican-town.
We talked in loud voices in the sleeping stillness.
"Sal," said Dean, "I have just the girl waiting for you at this very minute – if she's off duty" (looking at his watch). "A waitress, Rita Bettencourt, fine chick, slightly hung-up on a few sexual difficulties which I've tried to straighten up and I think you can manage, you fine gone daddy you.
So we'll go there at once – we must bring beer, no, they have some themselves, and damn!" he said socking his palm.
"I've just got to get into her sister Mary tonight."
"What?" said Carlo.
"I thought we were going to talk."
"Yes, yes, after."
"Oh, these Denver doldrums!" yelled Carlo to the sky.
"Isn't he the finest sweetest fellow in the world?" said Dean, punching me in the ribs.
"Look at him.
Look at him!"
And Carlo began his monkey dance in the streets of life as I'd seen him do so many times everywhere in New York.
And all I could say was,
"Well, what the hell are we doing in Denver?"
"Tomorrow, Sal, I know where I can find you a job," said Dean, reverting to businesslike tones.
"So I'll call on you, soon as I have an hour off from Marylou, and cut right into that apartment of yours, say hello to Major, and take you on a trolley (damn, I've no car) to the Camargo markets, where you can begin working at once and collect a paycheck come Friday.
We're really all of us bottomry broke.
I haven't had time to work in weeks.
Friday night beyond all doubt the three of us – the old threesome of Carlo, Dean, and Sal – must go to the midget auto races, and for that I can get us a ride from a guy downtown I know… " And on and on into the night.
We got to the house where the waitress sisters lived.
The one for me was still working; the sister that Dean wanted was in.
We sat down on her couch.
I was scheduled at this time to call Ray Rawlins.
I did.
He came over at once.
Coming into the door, he took off his shirt and undershirt and began hugging the absolute stranger, Mary Bettencourt.